


There Was a Little Girl, With a Little Curl

by MissJaneInTheSun



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJaneInTheSun/pseuds/MissJaneInTheSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re good, Regina. Very, very good,” Emma whispered, turning to nuzzle, intimately, into the bare skin of Regina’s chest.</p><p>“Yeah. But when I’m bad I’m horrid.” </p><p>This is fluff and smut set in season one and/or an au world without magic.</p><p>(Dunno what happened when I posted originally but it no longer ends unexpectedly in the middle of a sentence!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was a Little Girl, With a Little Curl

“Sometimes, Miss Swan, there is a fine line between hate and love.”

Emma was too mad as she slammed the Mayor’s office door behind her to take in Regina’s words. It was as she walked towards Henry’s school that they came back to her.

What on earth did the mayor mean by a fine line between hate and love? There wasn’t a bone, nor a even a cell, of Emma Swan’s body that didn’t hate Regina Mills at times like this. She was not only unreasonable, but so smug about it as well. Emma wasn’t trying to kidnap Henry. She didn’t want a child of her own. How many times did she have to explain that? She just wanted to be in his life. She didn’t want him to live with her, or to think of her as his mother. She wanted him to know that she was there, and oh, she’d had this conversation at least once a day for the last month, and there was nothing to do with love in it.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. How could she stop that Miss Swan from interfering in Henry’s life? Regina, slammed the door behind her departing visitor and walked heavily back over towards her desk.

And what the fuck was that that came out of her mouth about love?

If Regina Mills knew anything about love it was that people like her did not end up with the blonde-haired princess. 

Yet, somehow, the idea of Miss Swan, with her knee high boots and her tight jeans and her hands stuck in her pockets and her red leather jacket (Regina swallowed hard as she mentally ran though this image), somehow that Miss Swan didn’t really fit the picture of the helpless blonde princess everyone in a kingdom might be pursuing.

But, fuck, that wasn’t the issue at stake right now. The issue was why on earth, she, Regina Mills had said that thing about love and hate. Emma didn’t love Regina. And Emma would never, ever love Regina. In fact, she had never shown any sign that she might ever even tolerate her. Emma showed, with every pore in her being, that she hated Regina. The only reason she comes near me is to try to get Henry. 

Except, of course, there was a fine line between love and hate.

Urgh. It wasn’t ‘love’ that she felt sometimes in the sheriff’s presence, it was an overwhelming ... desire. A desire to just do something. Anything (throw her through a window, push her up against a wall and kiss her, serve her lasagne and...)

Regina stood again and moved around the office, straightening the pictures and certificates on the wall that had moved when Emma had slammed the door on the way out. Yes, she did feel something for Emma Swan. And, while it may not have had a lot to do with love, it wasn’t all about hate either. From time to time she had little fantasies about Emma Swan that were cloyingly domestic. 

Usually they were cooking or something similar. And they were comfortable. That was the important part. There was an adult in the house with her and they were comfortable around one another; comfortable enough that Regina would reach out to touch this other person, this Emma in the kitchen. This Emma in the kitchen would allow herself to be touched by Regina and in the middle of this domesticity the apple pie would be put aside and next things she knew they would be on the floor, or against the wall, and Regina’s hands would be inside the sheriff’s pants and Emma’s hands would be - well, ahem. Regina wasn’t sure of the specifics, but they hardly seemed important once the dream got to that point.

While Regina had never doubted that she had the capacity to feel great lust for a woman as easily as a man, she had never believed that she had the ability to fall in love at all, none the less the sort of apple-blossom and rainbows stuff she was evidently feeling for Miss Swan. Not that the Miss Swan she fantasised about was even real. The real Miss Swan hated her, saw her only to argue with her, slammed her door and was possibly the least romantic soul on the earth. The real Emma Swan wouldn’t worry about even removing her boots before coming to bed if she was really in the mood. The real Emma Swan probably didn’t know how to use any appliances in her kitchen other than the microwave.... yeah, but if she was honest, she found the real Emma Swan as attractive as the make-believe one. And it was what the boots and the attitude and the curls did to her guts (heart? ovaries?) that had caused her to mention love and hate earlier.

Urgh. It was impossible. Love and hate were at opposite ends of a spectrum. It must have been just a sheriff thing; her brain told her that if one sheriff was good for fuck, then this one might be too. That had to be it. No point getting out her phone...

 

Emma’s phone beeped just as she arrived at the sheriff station. 

I believe we were in the middle of an important conversation when you unexpectedly departed. Please return so that we can continue what we started. Regina M.

What? Hadn’t Regina been talking about love when she’d left. Emma stopped in the doorway and re-read the message. What was Regina texting about? Was Regina coming onto her? Was Regina gay? Well that explained why she needed to adopt a child, ha ha. But, seriously was the mayor, the mayor who made no effort at to hide her disdain for her, making a pass? Is that what she’d meant by the love and hate thing? Did Regina get turned-on by all that in-your-face passive aggressive shit that went down every time they tried to have a conversation about Henry’s after-school arrangements? 

And why was she, Emma, putting her jacket back on over her sheriff’s uniform and heading back towards the city offices?

 

“Are you here to fuck me or for me to fuck you?” Regina lifted her eyebrows salaciously and Emma just smirked; she didn’t immediately react to the mayor’s proposition, or use of language, but mentally congratulated herself for having seen it coming. She walked the full length of Regina’s office until she was face to face with the other woman. The two stood toe to toe and face to face. Emma looked into Regina’s eyes, trying to conjure the seething hate she felt when Regina told her that she wasn’t a proper mother. She even bared her teeth a little. And Regina’s eyebrow rose, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for Emma to close what was left a gap between them and kiss the mayor.

Regina opened her mouth immediately.

Emma stepped forward and as Regina went backwards she leant against her desk allowing Emma to move so that her legs were on either side of Regina’s and her core pushed heavily against the mayor’s. 

“Not here,” breathed Regina. “My car is out the back.”

“You want to do this in your car?” asked Emma, pulling back from the kiss with a note of surprise. 

“Of course not, Miss Swan. I will be using it to convey us to somewhere suitably private and hygienic for whatever transpires. What sort of person has sex in a car?”

Emma tried to smile like it had been a joke. But the truth was that she had had sex in a car plenty of times. Maybe most times. Usually the cramped space of her bug, or maybe the slightly larger space afforded by some sort of muscle car. The mayoral Mercedes would most likely provide plenty of comfort and space.

As she say in the front seat, with Regina beside her Emma wasn’t sure if she was a child or plaything being taken home, or if she could see this more romantically, as a scene from a movie where the young girl is whisked away by someone older and more glamorous.

Actually she wasn’t even sure how she had ended up strapped safely into the passenger seat of Mayor Mills’ car five minutes after being asked if she’d like to fuck.

Had she had a choice at any point? Was it possible to say no to the mayor?

If she did have sex with Regina what would it be like? Would she know what to do? Would Regina? Is Regina a lesbian? (did that mean she had a strap on? Dear god - Emma turned to look the immaculate brunette beside her up and down, pausing on the bunch of fabric at her lap - dear god, the idea of Regina with a strap on did something to Emma’s cunt that made her embarrassed she might stain the upholstery.)

“There are two things I want to do to you, Miss Swan.”

Emma gripped the sides of the seat: could Regina read her thoughts? 

“What?” was the most articulate answer Emma could manage as they turned into the driveway of 108 Mifflin St.

“Come with me and maybe I’ll show you.”

Once in the mansion Regina seemed, for a minute, almost shy. She slipped off her own shoes, encouraged Emma to do the same and then took her hand gently and lead her up the stairs.

As she padded up the stairs behind Regina her feet sunk into the soft carpet. Emma had never got much further then the entry and so to be going upstairs and then into the intimate area of Regina’s bedroom actually struck her dumb, to match Regina’s own reticence. 

Once the bedroom door was shut, it was a completely different scenario. Regina took both of Emma’s hands, turned and pushed her sharply down onto the bed so that she was laying on her back, sideways across the white covers.

“Take off the jacket,” ordered Regina. Emma smirked. She might have been on her back but she had some level of power here.   
She sat up and then knelt. Without breaking eye contact with Regina she removed the jacket inch by inch, teasingly revealing the uniform shirt below it. When both the jacket and then shirt were discarded onto the floor Emma raked her eyes down the mayor’s chest - and then back up. As their eyes met Regina leant forward, taking the blonde’s hands in her own and pushed Emma back down onto the bed.

Regina positioned herself over the sheriff’s thighs, leaning forward slightly so that she could pin Emma’s wrist to the bed. As Regina held her face so close, so close but not touching, she licked her lips and Emma’s hips bucked. 

“Stay,” ordered the mayor. She let go of Emma and manoeuvred herself so that she was able to remove Emma’s jeans and pants. A glistening of wetness was visible on the hair between Emma’s legs. Regina took advantage of the gap between Emma’s now parted legs and settled herself in a kneeling position between her knees. As she leant forward to regain her hold on the sheriff’s wrists she brushed one thumb against the warmth of Emma Swan’s desire: 

“Why, Miss Swan. You’ve been thinking about me.”

Regina looked at the blonde woman lying on the bed in front of her. Emma Swan was perfect in every single way and it took Regina’s breath away that anyone like her would ever be here in her own bed. Regina let go of the blonde princess’ wrists and Emma didn’t struggle or sit up and start to run. 

In fact Emma reached up and began to undo the buttons on the front of the mayor’s shirt. Regina lifted her hand and holding on Emma’s stopped her work. Instead Regina carefully removed her own shirt and bra. This time it was Emma who licked her lips, and Regina who looked away. 

From where she knelt between Emma’s legs she ran her fingers gently up from the sheriff’s toes. There was the remains of red polish on her nails, and on her left calf a long scar shaped like a tick. The hair between her legs was darker than on her head (why did that happen?). Her belly and hips held the faintest tinge of stretch marks. The moles on her pale body might have been stars on an ancient map. Sacred places. 

As Regina’s fingers circled and stepped and rubbed across the flesh of Emma’s stomach she felt herself get bolder with her touch. Oh, Emma’s breasts! Regina cupped one with her hand and it was the perfect size to hold, while the nipple - round and dark - invited her to bend over and lick. Around her face Emma’s curls spread across the sheets and she was the golden princess from the Enchanted Forest. She was the princess. She was the princess, and she had come willingly to lie before her, Regina. 

Emma was expecting it to be rough. She thought that once she’d pushed her on the bed Regina would pin her down and hold her even if she struggled, and that their sex would be fumbling along that line between love and hate – or lust and rage – and maybe even between pain and pleasure. 

However, once she had her on her back on the bed and was positioned between her spread legs, Regina loosed the grip on Emma’s wrists and pant back to sit upright. Emma watched as Regina surveyed her. At first Emma wasn’t even sure if she was being touched, or just ...admired.

“I won’t break,” she said, meaning it as a joke, but saying it more like it was something Regina needed to hear.

As Regina’s tongue slipped from Emma’s breast to her neck she replied to the sheriff, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible over the beating over hearts and the rustle of a sheet, “Are you sure? Are you okay?” and when Emma nodded her yes, the same voice, now warm in her ear confirmed, “yes; you’re perfect.”

Then a voice said, “Emma?” and she answered, “Regina,” her own name odd in that voice and it seemingly as usual to use the mayor’s first name, but they were neither of them just jobs or roles or the subplot in someone else’s life. Emma lifted her head and deepened the kiss. Regina let her hands linger lower and lower and it took very little encouragement to have Emma tilt her head back and begin a series of low hums and moans in response to Regina’s fingers.

Regina explored the sensation of Emma Swan. With her thumb and forefinger she was able to stoke and to hold and to rub and rub again at Emma’s clit and as Emma said her name she slipped two fingers in just where they wanted to be and Emma’s hands were around the back of her head pulling them closer and closer; as Regina’s breasts brushed against the woman below her she felt a wave of warmth and desire flush though her own body and she began to rub herself against the back of the hand she was using to tend to Emma. 

Emma wanted to keep her eyes open because what turned her on here wasn’t just the physically sensation of the fingers at her cunt (oh, fuck, why had she thought a strap on might be necessary when the woman had fingers like that?!) but the sight of Regina so close, so gentle, so determined, so, oh! Emma felt the self assurance and the insecurities and the, oh, fuck - Regina!

As she felt herself come Emma lifted her legs up and over the taught back of Regina Mills and with her hands in Regina’s hair and on her neck Emma held on tight and pulled the older woman down over her (warm damp skin against warm damp skin, pebbled nipples, another intake of breath) and was enveloped by her. 

A little while later Emma awoke to a hand brushing her hair away from her forehead. 

Emma wasn’t sure if she had ever felt so safe so comforted and, yes, so loved.

“You’re good, Regina. Very, very good,” she whispered, turning to nuzzle, intimately, into the bare skin of Regina’s chest.

“Yeah. But when I’m bad I’m horrid.” Regina rolled away slightly to reach over as if trying to get her phone off the nightstand.

“Oh I know,” laughed Emma, because it felt safe to say so from curled up around and within Regina as she tugged her back into the warmth under the covers. “But don’t go.” It seemed like the sort of reassurance Regina needed just then. “Here’s the thing, you told me you wanted to show me two things, but so far there’s only been one. That’s pretty horrid, to break a promise like that.”

Regina buried her face in Emma’s neck, “can’t we just say this is enough?”

Yes. Emma could concede that this was enough. Even if this never ever happened again. Even if looking back on it she never quite believed herself the next she and Regina had a screaming match and there was a flash of something to remind her of this morning, then it was something she would be happy to hold with her forever as being ‘enough.’ However... however she did kind of like to see Regina Mills uncomfortable, and it was undeniably a love/hate thing they had going on, so she verbally pushed her, 

“C’mon, Regina. You can’t break promises like that.”

When Regina did finally speak she was almost inaudible. The two women were face to face, with their legs intertwined and Regina’s head curled under the cup of Emma’s chin. She spoke softly, and her voice was muffled by Emma’s hair, 

“I want to cook you dinner, offer you a beer, tease you about your clothing choices, talk about our son.” 

(So Regina was okay with tearing the sheriff’s uniform off and using the word ‘fuck’ to describe want she wanted to do, but to admit that she might want some domestic fluff in her life was something she was scared to admit? If so, then this was something Emma had to see.)

“Do you promise that I won’t have to cook anything? And that there’ll be beer?”

Emma laughed, and earned herself a flash of anger from Regina, which Emma vanquished with a kiss. 

“If there’s beer, then you might be able to talk me into it.”  
__


End file.
